


Five times Bacta didn't say "I love you" (and one time he did)

by BaronVonChop



Category: Campaign (Podcast), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Allusion to kananical character death, Bacta is the best, Bacta is the best dad, Bacta is the best uncle, Blood, F/M, He tries so hard, Injury, Kanan Divergence - Bacta is Not a Black Widow, Leenik is happy to go along for the ride, Tamlin is the sweetest child in the galaxy, Tryst is a human disaster, Wartime injury, drinking wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 13:57:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9274964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaronVonChop/pseuds/BaronVonChop
Summary: I wrote this to celebrate getting caught up on theCampaign podcast, and as a way of saying thanks to Kat, James, Johnny, and JPC for creating this amazing story!This was written based mostly on memory, so some things may not line up quite right with kanan. I hope I didn't kriff it up too badly.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to celebrate getting caught up on the [Campaign podcast](http://www.oneshotpodcast.com/category/campaign/), and as a way of saying thanks to Kat, James, Johnny, and JPC for creating this amazing story!
> 
> This was written based mostly on memory, so some things may not line up quite right with kanan. I hope I didn't kriff it up too badly.

“Medic!”

Bacta hears the call through the communicator in his helmet. Despite the din of gunfire and the roar of explosions, the urgency of the call comes through loud and clear. He grabs a medpac and takes off running down the trench, his boots kicking up dirt and mud.

“On my way!” he shouts into his comlink.

Trooper CT-1776, known to his colleagues as “Bacta,” races past his fellow clones, keeping his head down as his comrades exchange fire with the distant enemy. He stumbles when a nearby explosion shakes the ground, and a moment later a shower of rocks and dirt thuds against his helmet. Barely slowing his pace, Bacta continues toward the location of the call. “Almost there! Hang in there, soldier!”

Up ahead, he sees a trooper firing over the top of the trench while another lies collapsed in the mud nearby, blood leaking out his helmet. Bacta skids to a stop by the injured soldier, placing his medpac on a relatively dry bit of ground next to the clone.

“I’m here!” he says, breathing heavily after his run.

The trooper who had been firing over the wall stops and turns to them. “The medic’s here,” he tells his comrade.

Bacta jabs a finger at the clone. “Keep firing, soldier! We need that cover!”

“Yes, sir!” the soldier gulps, turning back toward the enemy and resuming firing.

Bacta carefully removes the wounded clone’s helmet. As soon as the helmet seal lifts, blood gushes down the trooper’s neck and chest. Bacta grimaces, glad to be wearing a helmet so that the other clone can’t see his face.

Blood bubbles one the wounded clone’s lips as he speaks. “Is it bad?”

Bacta can’t bring himself to lie. He opens his medpac and takes out a stim. He knows he shouldn’t waste resources on hopeless cases, but he feels like he has to do something. “This will help with the pain,” he says. He injects it into the clone’s neck, and watches as the clone’s eyes slowly glaze over. “Better?” he asks.

“Thanks,” the man says, his head starting to droop. Then, perhaps because of the stims, he adds, “I love you.”

At a loss, Bacta can only watch silently as the blood continues to pour from the man’s injury, pulsing along with his hearbeat. After several moments, the heartbeat slows, then stops. Bacta draws a deep breath and closes his medpac.

He has no time to think about what happened. Already there is another cry of “Medic!” and Bacta takes off running again.

* * *

“Go!”

Bacta can’t seem to move his feet. All he can do is gape at the Devaronian Jedi as she stands, legs apart, blocking incoming blaster fire with her lightsaber.

It all feels unreal: his fellow clone troopers moving in, firing on him, on the Jedi, and on the younglings they are protecting. Bacta watches as Sian Jeisel, the Jedi he loves, deflects a blaster bolt that hits a clone in the shoulder, spinning him around and dropping him. For a mad instant, Bacta feels his legs tense, preparing to run to the aid of the injured trooper. He has to make a mental effort to stop himself.

“Run!” she screams. She turns from the clones to Bacta. Her face is grim but her eyes plead with him. “Get them to safety! You must!” Without waiting for a response, she turns back, just in time to block a blaster bolt that almost hits her.

Bacta turns to the cowering younglings. Though they come from a myriad of species, Bacta recognizes the fear on all of their faces. Their eyes are glued to Jeisel, watching in mute fascination as she prevents their deaths again and again.

Bacta has to do something. “Come on!” he shouts, but the young Jedi do not move. They can’t seem to tear their gazes from Jeisel. Groaning with exasperation, Bacta stands between Jeisel and the younglings. “Look at me!” One by one, they turn their eyes to him. “We need to move, now!”

He cannot wait any longer. He barrels toward them, and the younglings turn, stumbling, and run, with Bacta following them. For just a moment, he turns back, but it is too late to say anything. There will be no chance for goodbyes: the clones are almost on top of them, and he can see that it is requiring all of Jeisel’s concentration to block their fire. Bacta runs.

* * *

“Good night!”

One by one, Leenik, Tryst, and Tamlin shuffle off to their sleeping quarters on the _Mynock_ , leaving Bacta alone. Though Bacta does not get sleepy, thanks to the lesai drug he takes, he finds himself in a pensive state of mind. Instead of his usual routine of exercising through the night, he moves about the ship and checks on each of the others.

As he looks in on them, he feels a sense of belonging that catches him off guard. Maybe it is the quiet of the ship and the intimacy of the darkness, but he feels something of the old camaraderie he knew with his clone brothers. Except this is different, somehow: while he and his fellow clones were created for the sole purpose of serving together, he, Leenik, Tryst, and Tamlin have come together through a series of unlikely events that none of them could have predicted.

Bacta does not remember any moment where they all made a conscious decision to stick together. At first, they were too busy running for their lives to make long-term plans. But since then, they have all had the opportunity to go their own ways, and they have all chosen to stay together.

Leenik stirs in his bunk, pulling the blankets tighter around himself. From elsewhere on the ship, Tryst gives a single loud snore. Bacta gazes at Tamlin, and sees the Zabrak child’s face peaceful in sleep, relaxed and carefree. Part of Bacta wishes Tamlin could remain that way forever. It is a protective, nurturing feeling similar to what Bacta felt toward clone cadets, and yet different in an unexplainable but meaningful way.

Bacta does not know what to do with that feeling. He opens his mouth to say something, but then feels foolish. They are all asleep, so they would not hear anything he might say.

Bacta decides that it’s time for some chin-ups.

* * *

“Cheers!”

Tryst is holding an enormous wine glass, but he drinks straight from the bottle anyway.

Leenik toasts Tryst. “I can’t believe the people who own this place are letting us drink all the wine we want!”

Tryst gives Leenik a woozy smile. “Yes, that’s definitely something they’re allowing us to do!”

Lyn scowls. “No, I do not think so.”

“Relax, Lyn,” Tryst slurs. “I mean, it’s not like they didn’t not forbid us to abstain from their wine, right?”

“Exactly!” says Leenik, hiccuping. “They didn’t!”

Lyn rolls her eyes, but she knows that, if there is little point to arguing with these two when they are sober, there is clearly no point in arguing with them when they are drunk. “I’m going to bed.”

“To bed!” Leenik raises his glass.

“To bed!” Tryst replies. He clinks his bottle to Leenik’s glass, and they both drink.

Bacta walks over to them. “All right, I think it’s time we all turned in. Come on.” He helps Tryst stand, and then, while Tryst leans against him, he pulls Leenik to his feet as well.

“How about a nightcap?” Leenik asks, earning a giggle from Tryst.

Bacta says, “You started your nightcap ten minutes ago, remember?” He starts toward the bedrooms, supporting Leenik on one side and Tryst on the other.

“Was that a nightcap?” Tryst asks. “I can’t remember. Maybe we should have another one, to make sure.”

“I’m sure,” says Bacta. His patience is holding, but only just.

Leenik leans forward to whisper loudly to Tryst, “We’ll have another nightcap in the morning, before breakfast!”

Bacta reaches a bedroom. He props Tryst against the wall and helps Leenik into the room. Bacta pulls back the covers, guides Leenik into the bed, and tucks him in. When he returns to the hallway, he finds that Tryst has slid down the wall and is sitting on the floor.

Bacta’s efforts to coax Tryst back to his feet earn only obstinate grumbles, so he lifts Tryst bodily into the air and bridal-carries him to the next bedroom. As he walks, Tryst tries to focus his eyes on Bacta. “You’re the best, you know that? I think you should know that.”

“Thank you,” Bacta replies, with the military exactness of a soldier on inspection.

Bacta heaves Tryst into a bed. As he turns to go, Tryst mumbles, “I love you.”

Bacta is certain Tryst has no idea what is going on at this point, so Bacta just pats Tryst gently on the arm and leaves, closing the door behind him.

* * *

“Yes!”

Bacta is somewhat hazy about what he says to Rendezvous over the course of their night together, but he is fairly sure that “I love you” never comes up.

* * *

“I’m sorry!”

Tamlin stares, frozen with shock, at the prone body of the stormtrooper. Tamlin’s eyes are wide, but there are no tears, as his brain refuses to process what just happened. His arm remains outstretched, fingers flexed and almost closed into a fist.

Bacta hurries over to him and kneels down. The fight is over, but Bacta is more frightened for the boy than he was about the stormtroopers. “Are you okay?”

Tamlin doesn’t look at Bacta. His arm starts to tremble, though he does not seem to be aware that he is still flexing it. “I didn’t mean to! He scared me!”

Bacta lays a hand on Tamlin’s shoulder. Tamlin flinches. Bacta tries to speak gently, but he cannot keep a note of fear out of his voice. “Buddy, I need you to look at me. Can you do that?”

At first, Tamlin stays frozen and quiet. Then, slowly, he drags his eyes from the dead stormtrooper. “Bacta?” he says in a tiny voice.

Bacta nods. “I’m here. I’m here for you. Are you hurt?”

Tamlin shakes his head slowly. His voice trembles. “I hurt him.”

“You were protecting yourself. He would have hurt you otherwise.” Bacta tries to sound confident and reassuring, to hide how disturbed he feels.

“But… but…” Tamlin gulps. “It felt so wrong!”

Bacta does not know what to say, but he knows he has to say something. “It should never feel good to hurt someone.”

“But it did!” Tamlin wails. “I enjoyed it! I hurt him, and I enjoyed it! It felt so wrong, but I… I liked it.”

Bacta is too shocked to reply. He stares at Tamlin. The Dark Side frightens and worries him more than anything else. He usually tries not to think about it, but the truth is that his greatest fear is that Tamlin might fall to the Dark Side. The worst part is that Bacta knows that there may not be anything he can do to prevent it.

“Bacta?” Tamlin asks.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Am I bad?”

Bacta wraps the small child in his arms and pulls him close. He can feel Tamlin trembling. After a moment, Bacta feels the warmth of Tamlin’s tears through his shirt as the boy finally starts to cry. “No, of course not,” Bacta whispers.

“I don’t want to be bad,” Tamlin sobs.

“You’re not bad,” Bacta says. “You’re a good kid. You’re a real good kid, okay?” He releases Tamlin and sits back to look into the boy’s eyes.

Tamlin has tears and snot smeared over his face. “But what if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not,” Bacta says. He is surprised by his own conviction.

Tamlin sniffles and wipes his sleeve over his face. “But what if I go bad? What if I can’t help it?”

Bacta can feel a glow in his chest as he looks at this small, scared, wonderful little boy. “Hey, I promise you, okay? I will never let that happen to you. Ever.”

Tamlin blinks at him, his eyes huge. “Really?”

“Really. Never ever.”

Tamlin throws himself at Bacta so quickly that he knocks the breath out of the big clone. He wraps his arms around Bacta as much as he can. Bacta feels the nubby horns on Tamlin’s head digging into his chest. Something about that sensation overwhelms the former soldier. His vision blurs as his tears gather in his eyes.

“I love you, Uncle Bacta.”

“I love you, too, Tamlin.”

**Author's Note:**

> The last part is speculative and doesn't really take place in any established story. I hope that wasn't too confusing!
> 
> Until next time: Peace is a lie, there is only passion...


End file.
